


When the Storm Arrives

by Heather_Night



Series: You Know My Name [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explosions, Hurt Peter Hale, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-15 13:32:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13032189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: “Hi, Pepper.”  Peter sat down on a wheeled office chair but he was sure not to crowd the focused woman.  “What mission are you running today?”His protégé scowled but didn’t take her attention from the three monitors in front of her.  “They sent Red back to the scene of the crime to see if he could lure the human traffickers out.”





	When the Storm Arrives

**Author's Note:**

> This part contains the most action but with a prompt like explosions I suppose it was inevitable. This story is the second to the last part of this spy 'verse.

Peter’s own mission had been canceled. Since he was already at headquarters he thought he’d wander down to the control room and see what was going on.

Lydia sat in front of a console of computers, headset in place, typing instructions with sharp taps of her fingertips into the ergonomic keyboard.

“Hi, Pepper.” Peter sat down on a wheeled office chair but he was sure not to crowd the focused woman. “What mission are you running today?”

His protégé scowled but didn’t take her attention from the three monitors in front of her. “They sent Red back to the scene of the crime to see if he could lure the human traffickers out.”

Peter sucked in a breath, gut-punched. He thought at some point this might occur but he’d thought he’d have more time to prepare Stiles.

More time to prepare himself.

“What happened to your face?” Lydia’s question almost didn’t penetrate his shock. 

His fingers ghosted over his bruised eye and cheek and poked at his fat lip. “It was an impromptu self defense lesson with Stiles at which he excelled.” Peter didn’t have a problem handing out praise when it was due.

Lydia cracked a smile. “I know you don’t think he’s suited to field work, and I’m not saying he should be out there regularly, but Stiles has some excellent skills that can be useful. Apparently beating the hell out of you is one of them.” 

Peter snorted. “He is a fast learner. Now what’s this nonsense about sending him back to the restaurant where Argent tried kidnapping him?”

“Hawaiian Hang Loose and Narcissus are ground support. I’m his handler. We planted some posts on his, well Jamie’s, fake Facebook account, announcing his return to work. We’ll give it a week and see if anyone comes around.” Lydia’s voice was cool but she was chewing nervously on her lip.

Stiles had subbed for an injured teammate, caught the eye of a very evil man, been drugged and almost kidnapped. The team suspected a human trafficking operation although Peter wasn’t sure of the connection with Gerard Argent.

Argent had his finger in many moneymaking operations but human trafficking didn’t seem to fit in with the arms dealer’s usual MO.

“I understand sending in Danny, he has that pretty dimpled smile and comes across as eager to please, but Jackson? What’s he going to do—flash the opposition into submission with his pearly whites? That’s assuming he can drag himself away from a mirror long enough to get the job done.” Peter had trained all of the agents when they’d first joined and he actually didn’t mind Narcissus for certain missions but when it came to protecting Little Red Riding Hood’s back, he didn’t trust the agent.

Peter really only trusted Lydia and himself for that special detail.

Lydia typed some commands furiously into her keyboard. “One of the patrons has requested Stiles, well Jamie, by name.”

The monitor in the middle showed Stiles, white shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, long legs encased in the black pants, a blood red apron wrapped around his waist, emphasizing its trim size. He approached a table with a man seated at it.

The gentleman at the table was in his early to mid 40’s with dark blond hair and light colored eyes. He was attractive if one liked high cheekbones in the Swedish cookie cutter mode.

“Hello, my name is Jamie and I will be your waiter this evening.” Stiles’s voice seemed extra low and husky with a hint of nervousness. “May I offer you a cocktail?”

The gentleman smiled up at Stiles. “My dear young man, there’s no need to be nervous around me. I’m as dangerous as a kitten.” He motioned to the white and red striped cane leaning against the unoccupied chair to his right.

Stiles played his anxiety to the hilt, going so far as to bite at his lower lip in that ever distracting way he had. At least it was distracting to Peter. It was probably wasted on the blind man but anyone in the vicinity would be convinced of his nervousness.

“I’m sorry, it’s not you. I’m a little off my game these days. Now how about that drink?” The sultry voice even cracked with nerves.

“I would like a Dalmore 18 year single malt. Neat. Thank you.” Peter would like to say the British accent was off-putting but it was actually very melodious.

Stiles seemed to find it fascinating as well, smiling gamely. “Yes, sir. I’ll be right back with it.”

One camera followed Stiles to the bar but the middle monitor remained focused on the patron at the table. The man pulled his cell phone out of his inner coat pocket and pushed a few buttons.

After returning the phone to his pocket with a nod, he smiled a very toothy smile.

“I don’t like this.” Peter was already on his feet. He ordered the same expensive drink as Argent and he oozed menace.

“Peter, do not fuck this up. It might be are only chance to break up this ring. Peter!” Lydia’s voice rang through the room, the volume making him wince.

It didn’t deter him from hitting the door at a full run.

The restaurant was possibly fifteen minutes from headquarters and Peter could be there and monitor the situation himself.

He’d just gotten Stiles back. He wasn’t about to let him slip through his fingers.

-0-

Peter braked so the Selenite Grey Metallic Mercedes Benz C-Class Coupe didn’t bottom out as he entered the parking area next to the restaurant. 

Up ahead he saw the blind man, a hand on Stiles’s shoulder, guiding him toward a Lexus LS 460 AWD Long Wheelbase Sedan in Atomic Silver. It was a pretentious vehicle but pricey so Peter knew the man had money to spare. 

“Excuse me, do you happen to have the time?” Peter was out of his car in a flash, his long legs chewing up the real estate, but he was trying to project a _late for a very important meeting_ instead of _take your hands off the young man before I rip your face off_ vibe.

The vision impaired man and Stiles both turned toward him. Stiles’s expression was full of consternation and the blond seemed amused. “I’m afraid I can’t help you.” Peter was beginning to detest the pretty accent.

The man held up both arms to show he wasn’t wearing a watch. Peter knew he had a cell phone that had the time but he instead turned his attention to Stiles. “How about you, do you happen to have the time?”

“Oh, I’m afraid young Jamie is a bit tied up at the moment.” Peter realized Stiles’s arms were behind his back and were, most likely, actually bound. 

The absolute audacity of this British bloke was grinding on Peter’s last nerve.

“Excuse me,” a female voice interrupted.

Peter turned and saw a man and a woman, the man a giant among men and the dark haired woman looking fit and trim, staring at him. He wasn’t overly worried about turning his back since the British fellow was blind.

Something cracked into the back of Peter’s skull.

Stiles’s shout of outrage was drowned out by the pulsing pain.

Peter closed his eyes and let unconsciousness take him.

-0-

Peter woke up disoriented to someone shaking his shoulder. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had slept next to him.

“Peter, I set up a diversion. We need to go now.” Whoever was shaking his shoulder hissed urgently at him. “Oh my fucking God, please don’t make me carry you.” The voice was a little louder this time. Peter recognized that voice…

“Stiles?”

“Got it in one. Now up and at ‘em.” Peter found himself vertical and he couldn’t say he cared for the experience.

“I know. I think you have a concussion. It sucks. You know what else sucks? Getting sold as a part of a human trafficking operation. Now shake those cute little tail feathers.” Stiles’s voice was sort of growly and Peter had to say he approved. He didn’t know his Little Red had it in him.

Limping along, leaning heavily on Stiles, things began to come back to Peter.

He remembered watching Stiles marched across the parking lot to a car by a blind man.

Oh wait, the blind hadn’t been blind. Peter thought the other man had moved with a little too much self-assurance. That’s the only way he could’ve gotten the drop on Peter.

Peter had been smacked on the back of the head and now here he was, with Stiles. That part of the plan had at least come to fruition. Actually, there hadn’t been a plan, just Peter’s overriding need to save his fellow agent.

Now the thought of being duped by a not-so-blind man when he knew better made him angry. Angry and nauseous, although the nausea was probably from the head injury. “No one gets the drop on me. I’m going to teach that faux-blind man a lesson he’ll never forget. He made me angry. No one wants me angry.”

“Yeah, yeah, Hulk. You muffed your lines a little but I got it. Now let’s get the hell out of here.” Stiles huffed in his ear. Peter wanted Stiles to huff in his ear but not when he was being dragged across a cement floor.

They were probably in a warehouse. How very clichéd.

This was not at all how Peter had envisioned the op going. Then again he’d never envisioned Stiles getting snatched up again.

Nor was this an op. He was going to get reprimanded for this little jaunt but he couldn’t bring himself to care at the moment.

With a well-placed kick from Stiles’s long leg they burst into sunlight and Peter groaned.

“Over there!” Thug One yelled.

Peter groaned. “Stiles, I don’t think I can protect you right now.” To be blunt, Peter didn’t think he could protect himself either.

“I’ve got you covered this time, Peter. On three, two, one.”

_Ka-boom!_

He couldn’t process what was going on but he soon figured out there had been an explosion of some sort. He was on his stomach, covered by a warm body, as his ears rang even more loudly than before.

The warmth covering him moved and he found himself slowly rolled on to his back. “You still with me, Peter?”

Stiles stared down on him, pretty eyes large with enlarged pupils. Adrenaline would do that to a person.

“Peter?” Stiles worried at his lower lip with white even teeth in that distracting way he had.

“Here.” Peter croaked. He cleared his throat. “What happened to the bad guys?”

“I rigged a little explosion with some ingredients I found in the warehouse. Lydia once told me how to make a poor man’s Molotov Cocktail and I improvised. The bad guys were caught by the blast. They don’t feel so good at the moment.” Stiles turned his head and Peter followed his line of sight. The big guy and the dark haired woman along with the not so blind man were sprawled across the blacktop.

Sirens in the distance made his head ache even more. 

Things became a bit blurry and the next time Peter became aware of his surroundings, he was perched on the back of an ambulance rig. Warmth pressed against his side and before he even turned his head he knew it was Stiles. 

And apparently Lydia was there as well and her voice had never been more sibilant as she berated her friend.

“Are you crazy? You could’ve blown the two of you up.” Dear Lydia wasn’t nearly as quiet as she thought she was and the escalating volume was playing havoc with his tinnitus.

Stiles huffed and this huff wasn’t sexy. It was the huff of an offended person. “I had to improvise. I found a bottle and gasoline and it seemed like fate. I sacrificed my shirt for the wick and they missed the lighter in my shoe. Bam. Ouch.”

Peter’s eyes cracked open and he turned his head. A paramedic was tending to Stiles’s biceps. The long sleeved dress shirt was gone and Stiles was clad in only a white T-shirt. At least at one time it had been white. Now it was streaked with dark and even some pink.

“Are you okay?” Peter rasped.

Lydia reached forward and cuffed Stiles on the back of the head. It wasn’t exactly dainty but it could’ve been much more forceful. “This fool tried blowing you two up. All things considered, he’s just fine.”

Stiles scowled and between the smudges of dirt across his cheek and chin, he looked less like an architect of an incendiary device and more like a child who’d been playing in the mud.

And he was Peter’s.

Leaning forward, Peter brushed his lips against a patch of clean skin.

Stiles tightened his arm around Peter’s waist. “How are you feeling? Deucalion smacked you really hard.”

“Was that what the British asshole called himself? He ought to be ashamed of himself, pretending to be blind.” Actually, Peter thought he’d add that to his own arsenal of personas. People really did let their guard down when around someone who was seemingly impaired.

Peter brought his hand up to the back of his head and checked the damage. Swollen and sore but no stitches.

“Deucalion? He really is blind. He hit you with his cane. I tried to knock into him but he’s stronger than he looks.” Stiles’s hand rubbed at the indent above Peter’s waist. The contact was through his shirt—now torn and bloody—but later he planned on skin-to-skin contact.

Lydia interrupted Peter’s musings with her sharp voice. “You’ll be happy to know that Kali and Ennis are rolling over on their boss, Deucalion. Apparently they’re implicating Argent, too.” 

Something occurred to Peter. “How exactly did a blind man lure you outside?” 

“He had a gun that he kept trained on collaterals. I was waiting for a chance to knock it out of his hand but he smacked me in the head with that stupid cane and when I came to, I was tied up. I wasn’t panicking though because I knew there was a homing device planted in my shoe that Danny could track. When you were hurt I felt like I couldn't wait, that I needed to do something.” Stiles’s eyes were downcast, his face still that beguiling shade of pink.

Lydia squawked in outrage and Peter was certain a spike was being driven into his temple. Before she could berate Stiles further, Peter took the other agent’s pointed chin in his fingers and turned his head until they were facing one another. “Are you okay, darling?”

Stiles’s mouth turned into the crooked smile guaranteed to melt Peter’s heart. It worked.

“I was so afraid you had a Traumatic Brain Injury from that blow to the head. Don’t ever do that to me.” Stiles sealed his dictate by pressing his lips against Peter’s.

Peter drew back as his lip throbbed. “Ow.” He’d forgotten Stiles had ably defended himself the night before. 

Stiles had ably defended himself, and Peter, against Deucalion and his crew.

Maybe Peter had been hasty when he’d failed Little Red Riding Hood from the field tract.

“The good news is the both of you are in better condition than I would’ve counted on after seeing that,” he blond paramedic pointed to the flames still burning in the background. “The bad news is you both need to be checked at the hospital to rule out internal bleeding.”

Peter was disappointed. He wanted to take Stiles back to his place and show him how much he meant to Peter.

Then again he still had a fat lip, bruised eye and now an aching head.

Perhaps delaying another day wasn’t such a bad plan. 

The paramedic and his partner helped Peter and Stiles to their feet and guided them back to the gurneys.

“I’ll see you two at the hospital. I can drive you home after you’re cleared.” Lydia piped up from the back of the rig. She seemed to have gotten over her fit of temper and was back to the professional Lydia he was used to seeing in public.

Stiles cleared his throat. “We’ll call you when we’re ready. I don’t know how long it’ll take.”

“No worries, you two both have very hard heads so I’m sure you’re fine. The hospital will probably be in a rush to show you the door.” Her tone was mocking but her green eyes danced with humor.

The paramedic closed the double doors and secured each man to a gurney. “If you need something just let me know. I’m going to update the ER Room.”

Stiles reach across the aisle and snagged Peter’s hand, squeezing it. “Thank you for coming for me.”

“Stiles, I broke every protocol in the book and probably a few that haven’t been written.” He squeezed Stiles’s hand back. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

“Does that mean you forgive me for almost blowing you up?” Stiles was back to biting his lower lip. It was beyond distracting. If Peter were closer he would bite on it himself.

“You’re a very clever young man, Red. You got the job done and that’s what matters.” Peter was very proud of the young agent. He had handled himself in the field with great aplomb. 

“Thanks, Halestorm. I learned from the best.” Stiles batted his ridiculously thick eyelashes at Peter.

Peter had taught Stiles quite a bit about spy craft but he planned to do much more in the coming years. He needed to make certain Stiles had every skill at his disposal to stay safe.

After all, Peter had long range plans for the younger agent and they didn’t all revolve around the job.

-0-

It had taken both agents a few days to feel up to snuff. That had given Peter time to decide upon a plan to woo the younger man. He had decided to have their meal catered in to his condo and Italian food seemed to set the right tone.

Right up until Stiles asked after the sumptuous food set out before him on the massive farmhouse-inspired deep brown dining room table. “Where is this heavenly food from again?”

“L’Ultima Cena.” Peter poured the 2008 Barone Ricasoli Chianti Classico Colledila into their glasses. He figured the subtleties of the complex herb-edged, wild cherry flavor would be lost on his partner but he wanted to introduce Stiles to fine living.

“The Last Supper? Seriously?” Stiles’s lips turned into a smirk and Peter rolled his eyes. 

Apparently wining and dining the younger man was going to require flexible thinking on Peter’s part. He knew there was an age gap but it’s not like Stiles was a college frat-boy just out for a good time. At least he didn’t think that was the case. The logical side of Peter still had some reservations about a relationship with Stiles but his heart didn't seem to care.

Peter nudged the bowl with the signature course from the restaurant, spaghetti Bolognese, at Stiles. “Help yourself.” A lovely mixed green salad in another bowl rounded out the meal.

Except for dessert, a wonderful Tiramisu, that he would serve with coffee later. Hopefully much later.

Stiles dove into his food with an appetite Peter hadn’t witnessed in, well, ever. The younger man twirled the spaghetti, fork against spoon, like a seasoned diner and proceeded to slurp the pasta into his mouth with a moan. 

A single strand defied his efforts and with hollowed cheeks, Stiles sucked it into his mouth with a satisfied groan.

Peter’s mouth parted. Perhaps it was shock but primarily it was awe.

Meeting Peter’s eyes, Stiles set his silverware down with a clunk on his white plate. “I’m so sorry. This is why no one wants to be seen with me in public. At least one of the reasons.” Stiles dabbed madly at his lips with the linen napkin, eyes downcast.

“Darling, I’m pleased my meal selection meets with your approval.” Peter gentled his tone. He didn’t want to see misery etched upon the younger man’s face for one moment longer. 

Stiles fidgeted in his chair, eyes firmly down. “Why didn’t you want to go out to eat?” 

“Well, I must confess I was hoping to lure you into bed and I was hoping to cut out the mad dash home from a restaurant. Not exactly classy, but I really can’t wait to get my hands on you, assuming you want the same.” Peter willed Stiles to make eye contact.

Stiles complied, blinking across the table. “You’re not embarrassed to be seen with me in public? Lydia said—”

“I propose that we leave Lydia where she belongs, outside of our relationship.” Peter wanted to be upset with his protégé for making Stiles feel ill at ease but he hadn’t exactly done a good job of explaining his feelings to her. 

Peter wanted Stiles, not just as a bed companion, but also as a possible partner. Hell, he’d already put his career in jeopardy by running to the other agent’s rescue. He’d thought his feelings were perfectly clear but perhaps not.

The sun came out from behind the clouds, or more accurately Stiles smiled at him. “Agreed.”

“As for your dining habits, I didn’t realize you had such an appetite. Tell me, does that appetite extend to the bedroom?” Peter remembered the way Stiles had sucked the errant strand of spaghetti into his mouth with hollowed cheeks and tried to adjust himself discretely.

Stiles settled his hand on the table, palm up. “What do you say we find out?”

Game, set and match. Stiles had won Peter’s heart.

 

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> I had fun writing BAMF!Stiles. And catty!Peter. And the romantic scene from Peter's POV; he certainly seemed to enjoy Stiles's spaghetti eating technique. Only one more part to go and I think Peter's doubts are going to play a role.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
